


Onanism

by seashadows



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale Has a Penis (Good Omens), Crowley Has A Vulva (Good Omens), Cunnilingus, Fantasizing, First Kiss, First Time, Hand Jobs, Love Confessions, M/M, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Other, inappropriate use of the concept of sin oh no
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-28
Updated: 2019-08-28
Packaged: 2020-09-28 20:35:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20432051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seashadows/pseuds/seashadows
Summary: Contrary to popular belief, masturbation had never officially been deemed a sin.(In which a session of self-pleasure in the bookshop's back room turns into a surprise for all involved.)





	Onanism

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much to [weatheredlaw](weatheredlaw.tumblr.com) for the AMAZING beta on short notice. :)
> 
> This was supposed to be 1000 words of Aziraphale wanking angstily. Someone stop me.

Contrary to popular belief, masturbation had never officially been deemed a sin.

Aziraphale had been there, all those years ago, when Onan defied the Almighty and spilled his seed on the ground rather than impregnate Tamar. While he hadn’t exactly been privy to the punishment, he was up-to-date on enough heavenly gossip to know that Onan was struck down for disobedience. It was dreadfully wicked to defy the Almighty. Why and how humans had transmuted that into onanism, the supposed sin of touching oneself and spending the body’s most precious renewable resource, he had no idea.

That didn’t stop him from feeling more than a little ashamed as he stripped off his clothing and settled in for what, in certain quarters, might be called a ‘wank[i]’ The overstuffed chair in his office, with its comfortingly thick arms and squashy seat, was perfect for that purpose. If he stretched a towel over it to forestall any miracle-necessitating stains, well, that was his prerogative as well.

He closed his eyes and ran his hands over his thighs, shivering happily as gooseflesh rose. Heaven would likely turn a blind eye to what he was doing, but what he was thinking about – no, that would never pass muster.

Well, no matter. They were too frightened to so much as say boo to him anymore. He was free to fantasize as he liked.

He was already manifesting genitalia, and they were rock-hard at the very thought of what he was to think about. Aziraphale palmed himself and moaned softly. This would be an excellent session.

_Crowley was sitting in his chair –_

No, that would never do. Aziraphale had seen the chair in question, and he didn’t care for it one bit. _This _chair was comfortable for masturbation, not that dreadful thing that passed for a throne. Back to the old standby, then. As it happened, he had slept on the standby in question since the last time he did this. The thought of Crowley lounging there in sinful comfort was making him blush – yes, this was perfect.

_Crowley was lying on his bed, sheets rumpled and knotted around his feet. He had disrobed some time ago, and now his body was a beautifully flushed contrast to the deep red silk around him. He reached for his…_

Aziraphale squeezed his eyes more tightly shut and sank his teeth into his lower lip. He had the easy option[ii] out in his hand, but what might Crowley choose, devious demon that he was? Aziraphale would enjoy watching no matter which way he might go, but for now…oh, the choice was too difficult.

_Crowley made his favorite effort and ran his hand over it, drawing in his breath with the intensity of the feeling. A choked noise rose up in his long, elegant throat as he threw his head back. “Oh,” he said, “A–”_

This was the part that Aziraphale always had trouble with. Was it disrespectful to imagine Crowley saying his name? Thousands of years he’d asked himself that question, and he still had no real answer. What would Crowley think if he knew? Would he be angry, or flattered, or…or even_ aroused_?

No, Aziraphale decided, this time he would do it. Bugger disrespect. If he was sinning, then he might as well sin freely.

_“Oh, Aziraphale,” Crowley said. His voice rose to a beautiful, broken cry as he continued to touch himself. “Angel, oh, angel…Aziraphale…”_

“Crowley,” Aziraphale whispered. He slickened his hand just enough to make the slide along his erection sweeter. “Crowley, please…”

_Crowley’s hips jerked in time with the motion of his hand. He knew he wouldn’t last long; he was too aroused, too deep in his own pleasure already. “Fuck.” His breath came in tiny, shuddering gasps as his climax approached, and he flicked the tip of his tongue out to lap at his parted lips. “Aziraphale!”_

Aziraphale’s hips canted upward, thrusting his length more insistently through his tightening fist. He whimpered and threw his free hand over his eyes. With the world in darkness, the sensations below his waist flared all the brighter. “_Nnn._” His legs parted and, despite his usually excellent posture, he slid down in the chair. He was almost there – just a little more.

_“Angel—” Crowley’s back arched and he braced himself against the bed, one-handed, as his climax tore through him –_

It was too much. Aziraphale wasn’t even partway through Crowley’s imaginary climax before he found himself in the midst of his own. “Crowley,” he said. “Crowley – oh, oh, _oh, darling!_”

The orgasm made his whole body pulse, as if the effort he’d made were a pebble at the center of a pond. “Oh,” he sighed, using the pad of his thumb to touch the head of his oversensitive erection, feather-light. He slumped farther down in the chair, towel rough against his thighs, and shuddered. “Mmm…my dear.”

His eyelids felt as if they weighed a ton when he finally opened them. The room was only lit by one flickering lamp, but even with the light source unreliable, there was no mistaking what he saw in front of him.

Or rather, _who _he saw in front of him.

“Hey,” said Crowley, shoving his hands deeper into his pockets[iii]. “I’ll come back later.”

“Oh…oh, dear.” Aziraphale suddenly felt faint. “I…” For one of the very, very few times in his long life, he was at a loss for words. “I…what…”

Crowley shook his head. Aziraphale couldn’t decide whether to be relieved or worried that his glasses were still on. Seeing his expression might very well be as painful as not knowing what it was, because this friendship[iv] was surely ruined now. “No problem, angel. I’ll see myself out.” He turned on his booted heel and left the room – at a faster clip than usual, Aziraphale noticed.

Aziraphale’s belly abruptly underwent a sickening drop, possibly to his feet. Crowley was walking out, likely walking _out of his life_, and here he was in a chair with his own leavings all over him. What sort of angel was he? What sort of idiot would let a chuckaboo[v] slip away?

“Crowley!” he shouted, much louder than he intended. He stood up and miracled himself clean and decent with a snap of his fingers. “Crowley, don’t go!” He realized as he started to jog into the front that he sounded like the worst sort of romantic-film cliché, but if they didn’t work in real life, why would people put them in the movies? “Crowley. I’m sorry.” He found the demon skulking down the length of the Misprinted Bibles section, shoulders slumped as if he’d been dealt a blow instead of seeing Aziraphale doing…_that. _“Are you terribly angry with me?”

“No.” Crowley’s voice was far away and desert-dry. “Can’t stop you from wanking in your own shop, can I? ‘S’only natural.”

“That I…” Heat rushed to Aziraphale’s face. “…well, touched my, ah, effort?”

“Yeah. Sure.” Crowley shrugged. “You want to touch yourself, go right ahead. I shouldn’t’ve barged in.” He took a few more steps forward. “Guess I’ll see you around, angel.”

Now it was his heart’s turn to fall. “Crowley,” he said softly, “you don’t have to go. I, er, haven’t left any evidence. If you’re worried that things will be – will be awkward, I assure you that—”

“It’s not about awkwardness,” Crowley interrupted. His tone was more even, but Aziraphale wasn’t sure what that meant. “Just didn’t expect to come in and hear you wailing ‘dear’ like a, I dunno. A cat in heat.”

Aziraphale gaped at him. “That’s a very strange simile.”

“It’s what I have.”

“I…” Aziraphale cleared his throat, which didn’t need clearing. “I understand if you’re angry because I put you in an awkward position, but this hardly seems like…you seem as though you’re…” _Jealous. Envious. _He’d heard that tone too many times over the millennia to not recognize it now. Crowley sounded as though every word were being wrenched out of him. “I shan’t keep you.”

Crowley’s head dipped farther down. Much to Aziraphale’s apprehension[vi], he turned around – so slowly, too slowly – to reveal a face that was less flesh and blood than a stone mask of fury. “’I shan’t keep you,’” he mocked, in a voice that sounded nothing like Aziraphale. “Right, I walk in on you in a post-wank haze, calling some sod ‘dear’, and I’m supposed to just…walk away? Walk it off?”

“But I,” Aziraphale said. “It’s not.” He’d shouted Crowley’s name, not someone else’s. He knew he had! Why would -

And then the realization hit him like a two-ton 1926 Bentley. Crowley hadn’t heard him say his name. He hadn’t heard. _He’d walked in too late._

There was a chance.

Aziraphale licked his lips. As the expression went, in for a penny, in for a pound. Crowley had seen enough to misinterpret; it would be cruel of him not to end his misery by telling him the truth. “Crowley,” he said, the demon’s name dragging itself out slowly, “I think that perhaps you’ve been misled by the circumstances.”

Crowley scoffed. “Misled by what, exactly? It’s pretty hard to misinterpret an angel making an effort, Aziraphale.”

Aziraphale’s traitorous brain made a brief but callow detour around ‘it’s pretty hard,’ and only came back in time to tell him that his face was radiating heat. “If you had entered just a bit earlier,” he said, “then you would have heard me say the name ‘Crowley’, not – what was the term you used? Some sod?”

The detachment fell off Crowley’s face, replaced by pure fury. “Would you shut up already? I’ve been humiliated enough without you turning this into a fucking joke!”

“Absolutely not!” Aziraphale curled his fingers into his palms – not quite a full fist, but close. “I’m telling you the truth. Why would I – why would you even _think _I would lie about something so personal?”

“To – to—” Crowley’s breath stuttered. “To make me feel better? Console me or something?”

“Really.” Aziraphale folded his arms. “Console you. That’s truly what you think.”

Crowley threw his hands in the air. “You said yourself, it’s personal! If you don’t want me knowing you pull off thinking about someone else, why _not _tell me it’s me? Make me think you want me so I’ll stick around.”

Aziraphale’s heart, which had been beating much the same as a human’s for nearly his entire lifespan thus far, skipped a beat. “You think I would tell you that I – well – if I don’t? Just so I could keep you as a…a friend? I’m not nearly as opportunistic as you think I am, Crowley!”

“Why else would you say it?” Crowley’s eyes were bright and vulnerable, and his hunch was even more pronounced from the front. His thin wrists crossed over his hips. “Why the heaven would you ever actually – actually—” The apple of his throat bobbed. “Actually want me?”

Aziraphale realized that he’d been moving closer only because he found himself staring into Crowley’s eyes from inches away. “Why?” he said. “_Why? _Crowley, are you blind?” And before he knew it, he had gone up on his toes and kissed him.

Crowley’s lips were warm[vii], and so soft and yielding that Aziraphale stifled the noise of pure desire that threatened to come out of his mouth. Then Crowley was pushing him away, hands against Aziraphale’s shoulders as he stumbled back. “Whoa!” Crowley said, staring at him. His mouth hung open. “What the heaven’d you do that for?”

“I, er.” Aziraphale linked his hands behind his back. “I did it to prove you wrong.”

“Just to prove me wrong?”

Aziraphale gulped. “Well…no.”

Crowley crossed back to him, grabbed Aziraphale’s face between his hands, and kissed him, lips still soft but no longer yielding. “Angel,” he said, pulling away just enough that their noses touched, “you have no idea – no idea—” He went in for another kiss. Aziraphale rested his hands on Crowley’s hips and eagerly reciprocated. “How long I’ve—”

Aziraphale was the one to interrupt this time. “I’ve wanted it, too,” he said breathlessly. “Years and years, Crowley.” 

“Just _it, _or me?” Crowley asked.

“You,” Aziraphale hastened to say. He couldn’t stand to see the hurt in those eyes. “Always you. Such a long time—”

“Do you love me?” Crowley blurted out.

Aziraphale blinked.

Crowley yanked his hands away and covered his face. “No, no, no,” he said into his palms, “fuck, forget I said that, angel. ‘Course you do. You love everything, don’t you? _Angel_. I shouldn’t’ve said that. I shouldn’t’ve—”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale cut in, before Crowley’s litany could spiral any further down into self-hatred, “I love you more than anything in the world.” Saying it, finally, _blessedly_, felt like ascending to heaven fast enough that his heart beat wildly in his chest. But now, he realized giddily, he was free. He could finally say it. He could say even more. “I love you, Crowley. I love you so much. I love you, I love you, I love you.” There was a lump in his throat. “I love you.”

“Me too,” Crowley said. “I mean – I don’t love _me. _You, angel. I love you.”

Clumsy as the confession was, Aziraphale had never in six thousand years heard a more beautiful one. “Darling,” he said. “Dearest.” The words were jewels on his tongue, heavy and shining. “Crowley, may I hold you?”

Crowley nodded, and Aziraphale wrapped him in the tightest hug he could. His hands met at the small of Crowley’s back as he luxuriated in the feel and smell of him. Crowley smelled of life – cloth and soap and skin, not quite spicy, not quite sweet. Aziraphale hid his nose in the crook of his neck to get more of his scent. “You’re a wonder,” he said. “No miracle could compare.”

“Stop,” said Crowley, sounding utterly strangled. “Angel, please, take me upstairs.”

Aziraphale’s belly quivered. “For…?”

“Yeah. I mean, if you want. If you don’t—”

“Yes,” said Aziraphale. “Yes, please.” Perhaps they didn’t even need to go upstairs. He was suddenly grateful that he had decided, a century and a half ago, to purchase that overstuffed chair. Reading there was even more comfortable than in the window, but he could tell that his face was giving off heat now with the prospect of using it for something besides his own pleasure – of any type. “I do want. I’ve _wanted_. Do come to the back room with me.”

“What do you mean, the back—” Crowley began, but Aziraphale forestalled the rest of his sentence by picking him up. With a shiver and a broken cry, Crowley buried his face into Aziraphale’s neck and kept silent as he carried him to the back of the shop. Logically, Aziraphale knew that his body obeyed the laws of mass and gravity unless he wished it otherwise, but Crowley felt as though he weighed nothing at all.[viii]

“Shall I put you down?” he asked when they reached the room. His flat was too far away, somehow, even though only a flight of stairs separated them. The back room, though, was tiny enough that it would only be a matter of steps to put Crowley in the chair and do…whatever he liked, really. It was strange, but despite the heat in his face and the hum of arousal through his body, Aziraphale didn’t feel the sharp, immediate desire to re-manifest his parts that he expected. “What would you like?”

Crowley nodded. “Anything,” he said. His arms tightened around Aziraphale’s neck, as if he were a snake coiling there. “Anything you want. Have me.”

“I know I do.” Aziraphale smiled and kissed the top of Crowley’s head. How could humans ever say that they tired of these small gestures of affection? Maybe six thousand years of longing had made it so he couldn’t tire of kissing Crowley. “Shall I put you in my chair?”

“Same chair you wanked in?”

“Well, I cleaned myself up,” Aziraphale huffed.

Crowley groaned, the sound buzzing through his neck and down his spine. “Hottest thing in the world, that,” he said. “Put me in the chair, angel. Please.”

Aziraphale gently loosened Crowley’s grip and set him down, then took a glorious moment to look him over from tip to toe. Crowley’s face was flushed to the point that it clashed with his hair, lighting up the freckles scattered down his neck and chest like tiny dark stars. Crowley gripped the arms hard enough to turn his knuckles white with the force. “God have mercy,” Aziraphale said, “how am I lucky enough that someone like you exists, here with me?”

Crowley scowled. “No mention of Her, angel, thanks.”

“Terribly sorry.” Aziraphale bent and stole another kiss. It was strange to tower over Crowley this way, as if he had some sort of power over him. Crowley didn’t seem to mind, though. He opened his mouth and sucked in Aziraphale’s lower lip, kneading it with his top teeth until Aziraphale finally cried out.

They kissed for an eternity, but it was still too soon when Crowley pulled away. “Angel.” That one word was enough to expose the raggedness of his voice. “Please do something.”

“Something that isn’t this?” Aziraphale said, and kissed the tip of Crowley’s nose. “Or this?” He pressed his hand against Crowley’s nearly nonexistent belly. “Tell me what you want, love.”

“Ugh – _nnnnh_, Heaven, anything.” Crowley licked his swollen lips and gazed up at Aziraphale with a stare that by all rights should have been unnerving. “Feel like I’ll explode.”

Aziraphale might not have done such things himself, but he wasn’t ignorant of the details of sex, and he knew that Crowley wasn’t referring to the sort of explosion that might result from an angel and a demon sharing a body. “Your wish is my command,” he said, resting his hand on the crotch of Crowley’s jeans. “Choose whatever effort you like, poppet.” Crowley snorted. “What, you don’t like that?”

“No, I do. Just wasn’t expecting it.” Crowley smiled. “Poppet. I like that.”

“Then I’ll keep using my imagination.” Aziraphale sank to his knees and was rewarded by the welcome sight of Crowley’s dilated pupils. “Let me undress you.”

Crowley opened his mouth, but only a squeak came out.

Aziraphale covered his mouth and stifled a giggle. “Oh, dear,” he said, “it seems I have you at a loss for words.” He touched the button of Crowley’s jeans and undid it with a swift flick of his fingers, then undid the zip – and stared as what was underneath became visible. “What in the world is _that?_”

“It’s called a thong, angel,” said Crowley in a tone of fond exasperation. He slumped back and wiggled his hips, pushing his trousers farther down. The movement exposed the lines of every muscle, and Aziraphale hastened to pull the jeans down to his ankles. “Plenty of people wear them. Look, it’s silk.”

“So I see,” Aziraphale said. “May I?” At Crowley’s nod, he traced a line from the top of that intriguing black triangle to the bottom with his index finger, eliciting a whimper from Crowley. He could feel the springy roughness of hair through the thin silk, and a warmth that made his breath come faster. “I think I’d like to take this off you.” He rested his fingertip down at the apex. “Just a moment.”

He rolled the thong down Crowley’s thighs, careful not to tear or snap the thin straps[ix]. “Oh,” he sighed. “Very pretty. What do you like to call this?” He ran his thumb down the seam that promised a lovely treasure farther back.

“My cunt,” said Crowley huskily. “Clit and lips are in there, too, if you want to see them.”

“Of course I want to see them,” said Aziraphale soothingly, “but that term is so terribly rough. Might I say your quim? It’s suitably dirty. Well, it _was_.” He was breathing shallowly, trying not to smell Crowley and lose control of himself before this even began.

“‘Quim,’” Crowley repeated. “You’ve moved past old-fashioned into ‘frozen in time.’” Aziraphale looked up and satisfied himself that Crowley’s bright eyes betrayed him. “Are you going to sit there, or – _oh!_”

Aziraphale finished moving Crowley’s thighs apart and looked hungrily at what lay before him. He’d never been this close to anyone’s private bits, not even during his time in the gentlemen’s club[x]. “You’re beautiful,” he said, for lack of a better phrase. How _did _one effectively compliment someone else’s effort, as it were? “I could just look at you all day.”

“Fucking hope you don’t,” Crowley said. “You’re not supposed to read it, angel. It’s not a book.”

“Hm.” That gave him a positively devilish idea. “Oh, I think it is.”

Crowley snorted. “You can’t be serious.”

“Mm…I am. Move your bum forward a bit, if you please.” Aziraphale spread Crowley’s outer lips with his thumbs, glad for the greater visibility, when he obeyed. Crowley rewarded him with a quiet gasp. “My goodness, but this is a lovely book. Pink pages, how novel, but only two of them.” He used his forefinger to gently separate Crowley’s outer lips from the inner. “And such plump, well-cared-for pages.”

Crowley spread his legs even wider. “Isn’t it bad when pages are wet? _Angel!_” Aziraphale dipped two fingers into him and squeezed his eyes shut when he found Crowley just as wet as he promised. “Keep going!”

“I shall,” Aziraphale said, fighting to keep his voice steady. “Someone’s bound this book in red. And what’s this?” He touched Crowley’s swollen clitoris with a fingertip. “A built-in bookmark. Terribly clever.”

“Aziraphale,” Crowley whined, “please.”

“Please what?”

Crowley hissed in a breath through his teeth as Aziraphale stroked his clit. “Like that. Downwards. Or – or lick me, or something.”

It was an appealing thought, and Aziraphale was never one to resist things that appealed to him. He took a deep breath, fully taking in Crowley’s rich scent for the first time. “Oh…oh, goodness.” Crowley smelled deeply decadent, like the libations Aziraphale remembered from Mesopotamia, neither sweet nor savory. He could have been a worshipper himself, he realized, kneeling in front of his idol. The thought should have given him pause. Somehow, though, he could think of nothing holier. “Let me mark my page,” he whispered, and let his mouth descend.

Crowley’s hands came to rest in his hair as he worked, not pulling but touching. “A-_Aziraphale_, fuck.” Buoyed by the sounds he made, Aziraphale licked steadily at his clitoris and tried to ignore the rising ache between his own legs. Upward flicks of his tongue elicited a hiss that sounded pained, but smooth downward motions – alternated with the occasional movement of his lips farther down to taste him – made Crowley tremble enough that Aziraphale put a steadying hand on his right thigh. “_Ah_,” Crowley whimpered when Aziraphale tried making circles with the tip of his tongue. “There, angel. Faster.”

Aziraphale did his best to oblige. The entire lower half of his face felt soaked, and it took everything he had not to shove his other hand down his trousers and commit a not-quite-sin for the second time that day. Instead, he ground himself against his heel and moaned into the velvety wetness of Crowley’s quim. “Mm?”

“Wh-what’d you sssay?” Crowley tugged on his hair.

Aziraphale lifted his face away and rested his forehead on Crowley’s pubis. “I asked if this feels good.”

“Better’n good,” Crowley slurred. “Closssse, angel. Little longer and I’ll come on your face.” He sounded drunk, as drunk as Aziraphale felt on his smell and taste. “’s’at okay?”

“Of course.” Aziraphale pressed an open-mouthed kiss against him and dived back in like the world’s happiest dolphin[xi]. His neck was getting wet, but he didn’t mind if it meant Crowley would keep making those noises, would keep thrusting his hips against his face, would let him tongue tiny circles around his clitoris until it came all the way out of its hood to greet him.

Crowley let out a noise somewhere between a groan and a wail as his hands fisted in Aziraphale’s hair. “Angel, there – _there, _c’mon—” His hips rolled forward and then abruptly stopped; he began to shake all over, fists tightening until the grip very nearly hurt. “A-Az-_Aziraphale – _ah – ohfuck…” He was coming, Aziraphale realized with a sense of wonder and delight. Crowley was coming on his face and in his mouth, just for him.

He kept his face there all through Crowley’s climax, and dared an experimental lick to his clit when it seemed that he was coming down. Everything he’d seen and heard indicated that these particular bits could climax multiple times in a row. Crowley’s renewed grabby hands proved him right, and Aziraphale happily let him wring a second, then a third, orgasm out of himself.

“Guh,” Crowley finally said, and tapped Aziraphale’s forehead. Aziraphale disentangled himself with some reluctance and looked up at the most debauched-looking demon he’d ever seen. Crowley had gone completely boneless in the chair, and his half-lidded eyes spoke to – as he’d heard some of the young people say – how ‘wrecked’ he was. “Angel. Was that really your first time?”

“On my honor,” Aziraphale said. “You, er.” He pointed to his face. “Enjoyed that?”

“_Enjoyed _that?” Crowley’s eyes widened. “For fuck’s sake, angel, get up here.” He patted the seat. “I’ll sit in your lap if I have to.”

Aziraphale scrambled up the length of Crowley’s body and eased into what room there was left, which wasn’t enough. “On my lap it is,” he said, and lifted Crowley long enough to seat him there. “My word,” he added, wiggling his bum, “you’ve gotten my towel wet.”

“Ah, suck it up and deal with it.” Crowley wrapped his arms around Aziraphale’s shoulders and began to press kisses to his neck. Aziraphale felt goosebumps erupt all over, and beneath his clothing, his nipples tightened. “I want to pull you off,” he said. “Can I?”

“Pull…what off, exactly?” Aziraphale said, feeling more than slightly faint. “You don’t mean you want to pull—” He’d heard that demons could have strange desires, but that went a bit too far.

Crowley snickered. “Not pull _it _off, you ineffable idiot, pull _you _off.” He drummed his fingers lightly against the tented front of Aziraphale’s trousers. “Hand job. You know, reciprocation, except not with my mouth.”

Aziraphale abruptly went hot all over. Ah. So that was what they were calling it these days. “You’re surprisingly loquacious for someone who’s just drenched my face and my chair,” he said. “But do go ahead, sweetheart.”

Crowley’s breath hitched. As he unbuttoned Aziraphale’s fly[xii], he returned his attention to Aziraphale’s neck, adding suction to his kisses until Aziraphale could hardly breathe. “Can’t understand why you wear those fucking fiddly pants,” he said, and slid a suddenly-slick hand inside.

Aziraphale gritted his teeth to avoid embarrassing himself as he thrust madly into Crowley’s grip. “Oh!” He blessed every sexual partner that Crowley had ever had, every human he had ever graced with his sensual presence and who had taught him _this _in return. “Crowley, I can’t…” This was so much better than touching himself. Better than his fantasies.

“You can,” Crowley said, his voice a hoarse whisper. “You can do whatever you want.”

“C-can I?” Aziraphale’s breath was coming in helpless pants. Crowley was every temptation and every salvation wrapped in an auburn-haired package, still wearing his shirt, and he didn’t know which of those details was most arousing. “I’m…”

“Do it,” Crowley said in his ear. “I’m here to catch you if you fall.”

So he fell a million miles through stars stacked upon stars, but it was two warm hands and a comforting voice that reached up to catch him at the end rather than boiling sulfur. “Oh, _Crowley_,” he said, even as his softened length still pulsed with the last of his orgasm. “My love.”

Crowley cupped the back of Aziraphale’s neck and rested their foreheads together. “I bet you say that to all the demons.” His eyes, even blurred into one, sparkled with merriment. “Of all the days to show up here.”

“Well, you’re not leaving until we’ve had rounders and some tea.”

“Rounders?” Crowley broke into laughter. “Wait, angel, do you mean round two? Because that’s funny as fuck.” His laughter sounded almost like hissing. “You mean round two? Where the heaven did you come up with _that?_”

“They say ‘afters’,” Aziraphale sputtered, affronted, “so – so I thought – you know, like ‘for afters.’ Doesn’t that make sense?”

Crowley squeezed him closer. “I’ll take that tea, angel,” he said, “but from now on, you let me do the teaching. We can do the sinning together.”

“I have no objection to that,” Aziraphale said. For once, even if the term was inaccurate, he found it completely and utterly right.

* * *

[i] Crowley had picked up the word sometime in the early 1920s and hadn’t stopped saying it since. He also liked to alternate his terminology with “choking the chicken,” “fapping,” “hand-to-gland combat,” and his personal favorite, “slapping the snake.”

[ii] Sloth was a sin in which Aziraphale occasionally indulged.

[iii] Until a very, very short time ago, those pockets hadn't existed. 

[iv] Or whatever else it was – he considered himself a coward on very few matters, but in regards to not asking Crowley what his thoughts were on the current state of the Arrangement, he thought his belly might as well be painted yellow.

[v] One of Aziraphale’s few non-disastrous concessions to the use of slang was to pick up terms for ‘friend’ in all time periods. However, he failed at using them during the time periods to which they belonged.

[vi] Or possibly pleasure – he wasn’t quite sure which.

[vii] Surprisingly warm, considering his more snaky elements. But then again, Crowley wasn’t exactly an ordinary snake.

[viii] This stirred a number of instincts in him, not least the desire to cherish and protect.

[ix] Really, what sorts of pants were so impractical? He would suspect Crowley of having a hand in its invention if he weren’t wearing one himself. Crowley tended to only inconvenience himself by accident through his suggestions.

[x] Not that he hadn’t had offers.

[xi] Brain size, and dolphins’ more…questionable habits, notwithstanding.

[xii] One-handedly, because that was how Crowley rolled.

**Author's Note:**

> The various disagreements on what, exactly, Onan's sin was are very real. 
> 
> You can find me, if you so wish, at godihatethisfreakingcat on Tumblr. :)
> 
> Editing to add: for the sake of accuracy in terms of what self-grinding configurations are possible, I knelt in front of an empty chair with my mouth open. You're welcome. XD (The things I do for fic.)


End file.
